


narcissus

by kyanos



Series: Ophelia Abandoned [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyanos/pseuds/kyanos
Summary: she's never seen a woman like her before





	

She knows for a fact that the older woman has stupidly straight, sleek hair from the handful of days she spends at home instead of work. Nights like these are however more usual. Fresh from the shower, the thick hair unwound from the elegant twist it remains pinned up in all day long, hangs loose in dark waves that beg to be tugged straight. 

A desire that remains unfulfilled.

The velvet blue of the night sky hasn’t yet faded to streetlight polluted ash but from the condo it still manages to look appealing somehow. She closes her eyes to it and doesn’t think it’s odd anymore, it is in fact very much like Asami to make unappealing, plain dangerous things into things that beguile, attract. 

She smells deeply of narcissuses, her silk blouses, crisp cotton dress shirts, sleek and velvety dresses all carry the same heady, arresting scent. It’s a dangerous scent, more than that an expensive one. 

Akihito had always liked receiving flowers, rare as they were as gifts but these bouquets Asami gifted her were entirely different creatures. They weren’t arranged, not exactly. It was as though someone had plucked a small part of a wild garden and had it wrapped up in crinkling cellophane that barely contained it as an afterthought. 

She wears suits and dresses and skirts with the same flair. It’s not that her clothes are ever forgettable, quite the opposite, but the manner in which she does so. Someone who saw her for the first time may later recall the enunciating fitting of the clothes, how put together and powerful she looked in her Armani and Chanel and Saito. Others who’d known her some time, seen her covered in gravel, blood, and gunpowder as regularly as wrapped up in voluminous silk, wool suits, and traditional kimonos when she really wanted to screw with the more traditional of her rivals remembered her poise that carried whatever she wore with arrogance and pride. An unfaltering stride, a neck that didn’t know how to bend, a posture that immediately arrested attention and owned the space around her wherever she went. 

She’s never seen a woman like her before. She isn’t subtly toned like the skinny models she photographs for fitness magazines or the voluptuous ones with dizzying curves and cloud soft skin. Part of her appeal is sexual, sure but it’s more than that. She radiates power with a steely undertone of danger.


End file.
